


It's a Zimmermann Tradition

by bellagerantalii



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Kid Fic, M/M, Mild Language, Stanley Cup Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-11 05:18:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10455984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellagerantalii/pseuds/bellagerantalii
Summary: Five times Jack came home with the Cup, and one time he didn't.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Some amazing (read: stupid and hilarious) things have happened to the Stanley Cup. Look up the stories, you won't be disappointed.
> 
> Thanks to BeccaBee for the beta!

1

“Bob! Bob, Jack just shat in the Cup!” cries Alicia, a horrified look on her face.

Bob immediately yanks his son out of the silver basin. 

“Shit. This one smells awful. What the hell did we feed him this morning?”

“Bob, our son just defecated in the Stanley Cup.”

“Eh. We’ll wash it. It’s had worse things done to it.”

All this comment gets Bob is a stone cold stare from Alicia.

“I mean… Everyone’s done something stupid with the Cup. Maybe he’s just getting his stupid out of the way early?”

 

2

Jack is not the number one draft pick straight out of the Q. He overdoses, spends a year coaching peewee and getting his head back on straight, and then he goes to Samwell. He meets Shitty. He becomes captain of the Samwell team. He meets Lardo. He meets Bittle. He becomes less of an asshole. He signs with the Falconers. He graduates from Samwell. He kisses Bittle. He falls in love with Bittle. The Falconers make it to the playoffs his first year on the team. Bittle moves in with him. Jack and the Falconers win the Stanley Cup.

Jack wouldn’t be the person he is today without Samwell, or without all the people he met there. So on his Cup Day, he and Bittle load it into their car, along with a huge picnic lunch and about a dozen pies. The Keeper who accompanies the cup climbs in the car with them, and they all drive up to Samwell. Jack takes the obligatory photos with the university president, with Coach Hall and Coach Murray, and then he and Bittle meet Shitty, Lardo, Ransom, Holster, Chowder, Dex, and Nursey on Lake Quad, where they break into the picnic lunch.

“I gotta say,” the Keeper says, eating his fourth slice of pie. “Most young guys who win their first cup are a lot more stupid about what they try and do with it. Maybe stupid’s not the right word. Grandiose?”

“That’s not really my style,” Jack shrugs, pointing his camera at Bittle, who’s sitting next to the Cup.

 

3

“So I did tell you that I volunteered to be your Cup Keeper because you were so easy last time, right?” the Keeper asks, somewhat nervously.

“Ha. We’re glad you think so,” Jack replies, readying his camera.

“Your boyfriend--”

“ _Fiancé_ ,” Jack corrects.

“Okay, your fiancé… Is that a blowtorch?”

“It’s a butane torch,” Bittle says as he casually sprinkles sugar on top of the custard inside the Cup. 

“I didn’t say anything when you surrounded the cup with boiling water, and I admit I’m still not quite sure how you did it,” the Keeper says as Bittle sets the sugar bag down.

“We took the necessary steps to protect it,” Jack points out. 

“And I didn’t say anything when you put it in a refrigerator,” the Keeper continues.

“It’s been thrown into a canal. It can survive some refrigeration,” Jack says.

“But you can’t just take a blowtorch to it!” the Keeper cries.

“It is a _butane_ torch,” Bittle insists, rolling his eyes. “Jack, honey, where’s your apron?”

“Oh, right here,” Jack says, setting down his camera momentarily. He picks up the apron on the table next to him, puts it over his head, and ties it around his waist.

“Lardo, Shitty, you ready?” Bittle asks.

“We were born ready,” Lardo says. She and Shitty move up closer to the Cup and both take their phones out.

“So am I taking video or pictures?” Shitty asks.

“You do video, I’ll do pictures. Move over there,” Lardo directs and Shitty obeys. Once Jack, Lardo, and Shitty are all positioned, Bittle fires up the butane torch.

“Now,” he begins, using his best vlog-voice. He’s dressed in a blue button down, red bow tie, and a red apron with the words “Haus Baker” embroidered on the front. “The trick to getting the sugar caramelization just right is keep the butane torch moving. You don’t want to burn it,” he says, moving the blue flame back and forth over the surface of the custard. As he does, the clear sugar crystals darken to a golden brown. 

“Jack, you want to give it a try?” Bittle asks. Jack sets down his camera, and walks over to the Cup.

“I’m so glad we got this,” Jack says, taking the torch from Bittle and browning the rest of the sugar. “The best desserts are the ones you get to play with fire for.”

“You’re getting better. Remember the ones you burned the first time we tried it?”

“I think I’ve improved since then,” Jack says, squatting to make sure there’s an even color across the top. There is. Perfect.

“I think it’s done?” he asks, looking up at Bittle for final approval. 

“It most certainly is,” says Bittle, smiling at Jack and totally ignoring the camera.

“Alright I stopped filming. No need for the internet to see you two newlyweds get all gross,” Shitty says.

“Wait, newlyweds?” the Keeper asks. “I thought you were just engaged?”

“Well we’re technically married,” Jack says, picking his camera back up to take some shots of Bittle with his Crème Brûlée Cup. “We had a civil ceremony last weekend in Montreal.”

“The party’s next weekend, though,” Bittle says, smiling at Jack’s camera, but speaking to the Keeper. 

“And this photo is what’s going to announce it to everybody,” Lardo says. “Time for you two to pose.”

Jack sets his camera down, moves behind the Cup, and wraps his arm around Bittle’s waist. Bittle does the same, until they’re entwined together.

“Jack, face me a little more. I gotta see both aprons,” Lardo says. Jack turns.

“Does that say ‘Trophy Husband’?” the Keeper asks.

 

4

“This is really nice of you, bringing the Cup to a children’s hospital,” the Keeper says. This is Jack’s third Cup Day, but it’s his first playing for Montreal. 

“I wanted to give back,” Jack says. “I mean, I’ve had two Cup days already, so letting some kids get a chance to see it isn’t too much of a sacrifice. And most of them are tougher than me, so…”

“He also couldn’t think of anything more creative,” Bittle says, putting his pointer finger into the tiny hand of a baby just out of the NICU.

“And Bittle has baby fever,” Jack chirps back, but Bittle is too busy cooing over the baby and talking to its mother.

“This could be your last Cup, though. You sure you’re retiring after next year?”

“Yeah. That hit from Rochenko nearly took out my knee halfway through the season. I don’t want to be forced out because of an injury.”

“You have plans for when you’re done?”

“Stay-at-home parenting,” Jack says, smiling as Bittle takes the baby in his arms.

5

“You’re being so good! Just a couple more, Sweetiepie,” Bittle says, adjusting the blanket around Amélie. Their two month-old daughter is surrounded by a nest of blankets in the middle of the cup, wearing a Habs onesie with her papa’s number on it.

Amélie has been incredibly good for this photoshoot. Her eyes were even open for the first few shots, but now she’s drifting back into sleep. 

“She’s the city’s good luck charm, you know?” the photographer, a woman named Marie, says. 

“Why is she a good luck charm?” Jack asks, a little taken aback.

“Well she was born just before game one of the finals, and the Habs swept the Ducks,” Marie says, snapping a few more shots. 

“Huh,” Jack says. He’s not exactly pleased. 

“We’re not releasing her full name right now,” Bittle says, sensing Jack’s discomfort. “We don’t want her in the spotlight, you know?”

“I completely understand,” Marie says. “I think I’ve got everything for ‘Baby Zimmermann-Bittle’. Thanks for letting me set up a studio in your house.”

“Thank you for lugging everything out here. We didn’t exactly want the press following her for her baby pictures,” Bittle replies. While he and Marie chat, Jack picks Amélie up out of the cup, and rests her against his chest.

“Well?” Bittle asks suddenly.

Jack smiles. “Looks like ‘shitting in the Cup’ won’t become a family tradition, after all.”

 

+1

“Alright, Mia, just one more bite,” Jack says, scraping the last spoonful of sweet potatoes out of the baby food jar. The handle of the spoon is shaped like an airplane, and Jack does his best imitation of a buzzing plane as he nears the spoon towards his daughter’s mouth. Amélie, as usual, laughs at the sound, and swallows the sweet potatoes with a smile.

“Bon travail, ma petite chou!” Jack says, wiping Amélie’s face with a damp cloth once she swallows. She’s actually a very neat eater, for a one year old, so there’s not much to wipe off.

Jack scoops a handful of cheerios onto the tray of Amelie’s high chair, and while she busies herself with those, he gets himself a slice of leftover sweet potato pie from the refrigerator. Bittle won’t be home until late, but he said he’d bring Chinese, so Jack doesn’t want to fill up now.

He lets Mia have a bite of his pie (she loves sweet potatoes almost as much as she loves _Winnie the Pooh_ ), and just as Jack’s putting the last bite in his mouth, he hears the garage door open.

“Sounds like Daddy’s home. Should we go say hi?” Jack asks his daughter. Amélie puts her hands up, almost like she’s asking Jack to take her out of her chair.

“You are one smart baby. How did we get so lucky?” Jack says, lifting Amélie up.

They get to the door to the garage just in time-- Bittle’s right on the other side, carrying a huge bag of takeout.

“Sorry I’m so late, honey,” he says smiling as he steps inside. Jack bends down slightly to kiss Bittle, who kisses him and then plants another on Amélie’s head.

“The wedding was a total disaster. Well, everything besides my cake and the dessert bar was,” Bittle says, walking towards the kitchen, where he sets the takeout bag down on the island.

“What happened?” 

“The groom and half the wedding party wanted to watch the final, and the bride, understandably, was annoyed,” Bittle says, giving Jack a searching look. “How are you?”

“Me? I’m good,” Jack says, transferring Amélie to his other hip so that he can pour out two glasses of wine.

“Did you two watch the final?”

“Yeah. The entire team actually skyped me beforehand-- apparently they wanted to get Amélie’s blessing or something?”

“Hockey players and their rituals. They’re such silly men. Did you tell them they could win, Sweetiepie?” Bittle says. The last part is directed mostly at Amélie, and Bittle playfully touches her nose. 

“She was too busy drawing. Jack says, walking over to the refrigerator and taking a crayon drawing off the door. “I think this is supposed to be Pooh Bear?”

“I don’t think we can actually call this a drawing,” Bittle says, taking the paper from Jack and examining it. Amélie has just barely mastered how to hold a crayon, so the ‘drawing’ is a large yellow scribble with two smaller black scribbles.

“According to the pediatrician babies don’t usually start scribbling until 15 months. She’s ahead of the curve, so I think we can call this a drawing. It’s just… modern art. Lardo would back me up on this.”

“Jack, they’re scribbles.”

“There’s intent behind the scribbles. It’s a drawing.”

Bittle sighs, setting the picture down and unpacking the takeout from the bag. Jack is looking forward to eating his weight in pork buns. 

“I didn’t get to see to much of the game, what was the score?” Bittle asks.

“I think the final score was 5-3. Loony had a really great save in the second period.”

“And you sure you’re good?”

“Bits, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You retired after winning your fourth Stanley Cup, you were still perfectly healthy, and the next year your team goes on to win another Cup without you.”

“And you thought I would be upset?”

“You’ve been moody for less, Mr. Zimmermann.”

Jack considers this for a moment. 

“Maybe a little. But who knows what would have happened to my knee this year. It’s just as likely I would have been a liability as an asset,” Jack replies, opening to carton and taking out a pork bun. 

“And besides, now I’m around to defend our daughter’s artistic talent, because this,” he says, setting down the pork bun and picking up Amélie’s Winnie the Pooh drawing, “is definitely a drawing.”


End file.
